A Man Worthy
by The Great Mohaj
Summary: Continued. Two friends battle the elements, and a man comes to terms with his past. Read and Review!
1. A Man Worthy

This is intended as a one shot. Detail/clarifications at end.

Disclaimer: Ranma ½ and all associated characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi and are used without permission. In fact this disclaimer is used without permission.

The dirt road that led out of the small village shuddered under the weight of the okonomiyaki cart. The driver's feet kicked hot dust into the air, which fluttered through the wheels before landing in front of a small child. The earth cracked under the weight of those footsteps and the heavy wheels.

"Bye Ucchan! I'm sorry you can't come with us!" the boy atop the cart shouted. His wet eyes blinked rapidly as the dust surrounded him, but kept staring at the child running in the road. The child's own tears mixed with dust that stung and blistered her frail cheeks. The boy atop the cart would always remember that dust: the heat of it, the irritating texture, how it made him cry… He would always remember how the dust made him cry.

The earth soon settled. The tracks were worn down by the times. The splattered tears evaporated into the air. The dust returned to the hard earth. As the girl walked home and grew up, the road forgot about that day, the cart, and the children's tears; it was paved, and the town grew larger around it. But the dust always remembered the crumbling cry of the little girl, and the heavy heart of the man who kicked up the dust of her life, and the life of his son.

A Man Worthy

A large man huddled under the massive tree in the small clearing he picked out for tonight's camp, cradling an object wrapped in cloth against his bare chest inside his gi. The shrill cry of the winds echoed against the green hills as the storm raged overhead. His own mind mirrored the chaos around him: nowhere to go, no shelter, and no hope of reprieve from the damning winds that shook his heavy frame. His thoughts were his enemy, betraying him to the frightfully mortal frame of humanity. His hands bled from the constant scrape, scrape, scrape. The dirt mingled with blood that mingled with rain that mingled with tears that were absorbed by the dust of the earth. The dust could absorb so much.

Time passed and strengthened the winds and rain and hail. The earth bedded the bloody man with its harsh grip, and the skies pounded against his weak body with fury. The man's chest covered a small hole barely two feet deep and maybe two feet in diameter. The hole was covered by red cloth, and was spared the sky's fury by the man's bulk and strength and love. The man's body was blue from the rain, purple from the hail, pink from his blood, but his heart was red. His heart was red with pride, with joy, with grit, with love. The earth shuddered from the weight of it all; cracked from the enormity of the love.

Morning found a man in brown robes meditating in a small clearing. His thoughts drifted peacefully as he took in the beauty of nature's fury: the fresh grass, the bright flowers vitalized by the rains, and the glorious sun rising from a blue-pink sky. The man could nearly hear the world growing: the trees stretching their massive limbs, the grass soaking in the puddles, and the plants exploding in colours. A sharp cough wakened the monk from his reverie and alerted him to a figure lying face first under a large tree. The man was clutching the tree's roots desperately; trying to move his battered limbs. Seconds later the man was lifted up from the dust and his eyes opened slowly. The last sight etched into his body as darkness overtook him again: a baby wrapped in cloth stretching his arms out towards him.

Ishi easily lifted the bloody man into the air, flipping him around and cradling his torn body against his chest. Only then did he hear the strangled cries of the infant boy draped in red cloth.

"Amaterasu guide and protect this child, whom this man would willingly die for," the monk whispered, "Amaterasu may his love not be in vain: allow this child to be the wind that will puff away all the clouds which are hanging all over the tops of the mountains." And then the monk propped the man against the mighty tree and took the struggling child into his strong hands. The monk's steps were soft, so the dust couldn't follow him.

A man opened his eyes to see an empty hole surrounded in his own blood. His mind reeled as he jumped to his feet despite his fatigue. He scanned the field for signs of his son; his gaze fell upon a set of tracks leading into the forest. The man followed those tracks as fast as his feeble muscles would allow him, and the heavy earth yielded under him.

Ishi entered the shrine with the crying infant in his hands. The monk kneeled before the altar head altar at the back of the room, and he gently placed the child in front of him. He prayed there, in front of that altar, for a great many things. He prayed to purge any evil spirits from the baby, he prayed for the baby's health, and he prayed for peace. And as the weary man collapsed at the door to the shrine, Ishi prayed for the man's love to grow into a harmony with the earth.

"Where is my son," the man begged as he was carried to a small futon. His voice croaked with pain and his eyes stung from his tears. The monk shushed him with a whisper inaudible that carried louder than any storm. The monk's gentle hands removed the man's torn and bloodied gi and wrapped him in the plain white blanket of the futon. The monk gently lifted the baby and laid it next to the man. Satisfied, the man wrapped his arm around his son and was soon asleep.

Days passed quietly for the monk. He continued his daily chores and prayers, every night ending with a Prayer for Peace for the troubled father. He fed the man soup prepared from the little garden behind the shrine; the baby ate cooked vegetables prepared over a small fire. Ishi wondered what the man would do after he wakened. The small shrine was home to just Ishi and the spirits that protected him, and on occasion he felt lonely. He built this shrine to start a new life for himself. Ishi was well into his years and knew that the earth's embrace would welcome him not too long from now.

The peace and silence gave the withered monk time to consider his life. The life of an arrogant martial artist, self-destined to shake the world with his power. He fed the child and watered his flowers and remembered his old life, his own days of trials and suffering. After wasting his youth perfecting his body, he married into a strong family line and raised his son to follow his footsteps. When his wife passed away, he entailed his school to his son and built this altar, to live the last years of his life in harmony. That was thirty years ago. Ishi blew out the last candle and went to sleep.

Morning found a man in brown robes sitting outside a shrine. He was holding a small note written on weathered parchment in a hasty scrawl. The monk looked over the remains of his small garden and into the distance. He smiled and reread the note.

"Priest,

I am indebted to you for your kindness. And yet I must follow my path to completion. Forgive me for stealing your vegetables, but food is scarce on the hard road I must travel. You may notice that I took one of the many mirrors with me. This mirror I will keep until I am a man worthy of harmony, a man worthy of peace. I cannot follow you now, but after I free myself from the ties that bind, I will return your mirror to you. You must meet me when that time comes, and we will seek together.

May the kami protect you until I return,

Saotome Genma."

Ishi smiled into the sunrise. He took a small mirror from his robe, and chuckled to himself, "I'm waiting, my friend. I'm waiting."

Author's Notes:

I have read countless fanfiction that depicts Genma as a scheming monster whose selfishness barely outweighs his stupidity. This depiction has a lot of merit. However, I got to thinking about situations that had to arise during the training trip and this kind of resulted from that. I don't think anybody gives Genma enough credit. It was wrong to take Ranma from Nodoka at such an early age, and it was wrong to engage him to so many women. But letting your only son starve to death is also wrong.

The mirror is a popular symbol for Amaterasu, the primary kami/diety of the Shinto faith. The bit about the wind puffing clouds away if a part of the Shinto Prayer for Peace.

Reviews welcome!

-The Great Mohaj


	2. Count the Hours

Disclaimer: I do not own nor have any rights to Ranma ½ . That honor belongs to the great Takahashi-sama.

A Man Worthy—Count the Hours.

The worst part of living on the road, in my opinion, is the awareness it brings. For example, the harsh realities of nature that we deal with first-hand: the blistering heat, the deathly chills, the unyielding earth, and the irritating dust that would bring us to our knees. But it makes us strong. The awareness makes us strong, and for that we bear the reality and continue on.

I carried my partner up the hill, his arms around my neck, while straining to keep a hold on a consciousness that threatened to abandon me. The sharp_ hiss_ of exhausted lungs mingled with the swirling _buzz_ of gnats and flies that I was unable to strike away due to my heavy-hearted quarry. The stale air was suffocating us with dirt and dust. My eyes lingered on solid objects: rocks, trees, or plants that strayed into view, because I yearned for a similar peace. Nature, it seems, has its own haunting way of vengeance.

"Saotome-k…kun," a parched whisper escaped the lips of my load, "will we… will we ever see home?" The last word was spoken with a familiar pleading, an earnest begging for comfort, which I could not provide.

"Rest, Tendo-kun," I hissed back softly, "just a few more days." I lied. Even my closest comrade cannot be spared from my lies, but let him delight in my sincerity for a little while longer. There is no reason for us both to suffer.

"I miss her," he choked out, "will I see her soon?" The phrase made me heave with no uncertain amount of pain and regret. I consider myself spared from the worst torment imaginable: hurting my friend with the truth.

"Very soon, Tendo-kun," I said with no small amount of emotion, "count the hours, for they are few!" Words could save people; words could damn you forever, and words could keep an old friend from suffering needlessly. I didn't even know which way home was.

The sun's harsh light hid under the horizon. I wonder what she's doing this second. Is she smiling at the same sunset? Is she happily awaiting my return?

_Stop this, Saotome. You are not this weak! _I thought bitterly. My father would have been proud of me. If the no-good bastard still drew breath. How I hope he suffered the last few hours of his horrible existence. How could mamma have loved that despicable man.

Oh yes, the last few hours of a man's life tell you, in no uncertain terms, about the person he was. And Genma Saotome was certain his father suffered a well deserved awakening.

_Only thing Pops ever did for me was get me engaged to Her. _The thought always makes me smile. How foolish we were: always fighting, childish arguments and name-calling. _She has always been there for me. She has so much spirit. _And honor. Yes, she is the most honorable person I have ever known.

"Can we… rest here, Saotome-kun?" I barely heard the words.

"Of course, Tendo-kun. This is a fine place to set up camp." I grimace at my own words. Our tent was destroyed weeks ago by a storm, and we only have one bag to sleep in, but it had to do. _Yes,_ he thought, _It__ would have to do._

I laid Soun down against a tree facing the final remnants of sunlight as the orb disappeared against the horizon. Darkness drifted slowly over the small clearing, and the shadows seemed to grow until they suffocated out all that remained of the precious sunlight. In many ways, nightfall made life on the road easier: the heat was gone, the glare of the sun vanished, and the darkness made for a suitable peace to sleep. However, the nightfall had its own shortcomings, just like the men who huddled together for warmth and counted the hours left until they found home.

"Saotome-kun, how long do you think we have? Until… he finds us, again," my companion sighed, ending with a low moan. Him… the worst part of our lives, by far.

"There is no telling, my friend," I growled, startled at the ferocity in my voice, the feral qualities of the words that escaped my parched throat… and at the fear. "Maybe next time we will be rid of him for good!" My words lacked the will and determination I once had. That man has ruined both our lives, and I fear what we will become.

Happosai. I hate that name. I despise it worse than my father's memory. In many ways, I think they were alike. Not too surprising, as he was my father's master. I remember simpler days, when I was young, before him, before he forced us to do his bidding; hiding the truth under a thin veil and a guise of training. My ancestors will never forgive the things I've done under his command. If only I were stronger, maybe I am my father's child.

_What about her? She believes in you. She loves you despite what that foul creature makes you do._ I clung to the thought, as I clung to my friend in the frail protection of our one bag under a moonless night not brightened by the usual array of stars. I can be strong for my sweet No-chan.

Before the strong wave of sleep could overtake me, I looked again to the back of my companion. Our friendship was stronger than any perversion the master put us through, stronger than any regret our actions made, and stronger than the suffering our past brings. I am lucky to have that bond, and I hope I never take it for granted.

_Is it just a bond of companionship? A love between friends that you share? Or was Pops right about you?_ The thought wasn't unfamiliar. I feel a brief shudder run through me, part confusion and part disgust. Raised to be a "Real Man" in a time of weaklings, I was instructed early in life about the way of the world… in my father's point of view.

I look at Soun's frail face. He looks so much older from the worries and suffering we've survived. His black hair framed his soft features: thin lips that curved permanently downwards into a frown, his hung brow etched with worry, and his eyes that spoke of torments seen. I admitted to myself years ago that I felt more than companionship for my oldest friend, but these things are not meant to be. _Besides, No-chan makes me happier than I deserve. And he has his Kumiko._ But never would that stranger love fade; not while I live.

As we bundle in for warmth and protection, I hear a faint whisper. "Saotome-kun, How much longer before we are home?" The words were spoken free of any barrier, any emotional guard. And I could feel the fear, the longing from him.

I grasp his shoulder even as I feel my eyelashes release the salty beads of sorrow and regret towards the unyielding earth, and I try to smile. _No matter what happens, old friend, I will never let go. I will always love you, Tendo-kun, my brother._

"You can count the hours, Soun," I whispered back, "we are almost there."

I could barely make out his faint smile through the tears running freely down his face. "Good night, Saotome-kun."

I waited until his breathing evened and his pulse stilled before I whispered, "Goodnight, Tendo-kun.... _Suki desu_." And my eyes closed.

Author's Notes: This isn't exactly a continuation of A Man Worthy, but I'm planning a thread of short stories based on the life of Genma. Again, I'm not trying to say Genma is a good person, or even human in the things he's done to his son. But I think he deserves more credit than most people give him.

The small flare of yaoi in this chapter isn't meant to offend anybody. I think it characterizes the feelings the men share for one another. Think of all the things they've been through together. Read and Review, please.

The Great Mohaj

(Who is still a n00b at fanfiction.)


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